


He Came in Through the Bedroom Window

by betts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bees, Best Friends, Crack, Dorks in Love, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nerd Castiel, Nerd Dean, Sam Has a Dog, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 23:08:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3547181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betts/pseuds/betts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Close to every day of every summer, Cas climbs into Dean’s room immediately after he wakes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Came in Through the Bedroom Window

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up this morning with this fic burning a hole in my damn brain, and all I want in the whole world is summertime right now, so I spent the day writing it out instead of doing anything at all productive.
> 
> Title from the Beatles' "She Came in Through the Bathroom Window."
> 
> The "mildly dubious consent" tag is only used because there is no conversation about the sex beforehand, but both parties are definitely into it.
> 
> Beta'd by the devastatingly beautiful and brilliant [shiphitsthefan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/works).

**9:08 a.m.**

Dean half-awakens to the sound of the screen of his window sliding upward. He cracks an eye open to sunlight streaming through his parted curtains, and a black backpack being thrown into his room. A pair of pajama-clad legs follow, then a torso ducking through.

“What time is it?” Dean mumbles, absently rolling over onto his stomach to hide his morning wood. It’s too damn hot for blankets. Or clothes, even, but Dean still sleeps in a t-shirt and boxers.

“Nine,” Cas replies, closing the screen behind him and kicking off his shoes. “John and Mary home?”

“What day is it?” Dean asks into his pillow.

“Thursday.”

“They’re at work.”

“Sam?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, man. ‘S too damn early to be interrogated.”

Cas ignores him and makes his way to Dean’s bedroom door. “You want any orange juice?”

Dean mutters an affirmative, followed by, “Can you let Riot out?”

“Sure.”

They’ve kept up this weird routine for as long as Dean can remember. Castiel has been Dean’s next door neighbor and best friend his whole life, and close to every day of every summer, Cas climbs into Dean’s room immediately after he wakes up.

They spend the day doing whatever—hanging out and eating junk food, playing video games, watching movies, mowing a couple lawns in the neighborhood for some extra cash. They talk and stay up too late, and then Cas goes home to sleep for a few hours before coming right back the next morning.

Dean had been worried that things would change when they both went off to separate colleges, but the morning after Dean had gotten back from completing his freshman year at KU, Cas had climbed through his window at the crack of dawn, and Dean made them breakfast while they caught up with each other.

It’s tough being away from Cas most of the year, but they can Skype sometimes and then see each other over breaks, so Dean figures it’s not so bad.

A month and a half later, it’s like they’d never left.

**9:37 a.m.**

Dean opens his eyes to a glass of orange juice being set on his bedside table a foot away from his face.

Cas sits down next to Dean’s bed, cross-legged, and leans back against the side of it, scrolling through Facebook on his phone while he crunches on a huge bowl of Lucky Charms.

Dean falls back asleep.

**10:53 a.m.**

When Dean wakes up a third time, he’s drenched in sweat, shirt sticking to his chest.

Cas is exactly where he was when Dean had fallen back asleep over an hour ago, but now there’s an Xbox controller in his hands and he’s shooting at stuff on the muted television. His t-shirt is discarded beside him, so Dean’s gaze is met with broad, tan shoulders, more muscular than he remembers them. Cas’s skin glistens with sweat, and for the millionth time, Dean weighs the pros and cons of asking his mom to buy a window air conditioning unit for his room.

Pro: Dean won’t wake up every morning of summer drowning in his own sweat.

Con: Cas won’t be able to climb through Dean’s window anymore.

For the millionth time, Dean resigns himself to potential death by heatstroke.

Dean watches the game for a moment before sleepily trailing his attention to Cas’s hands, moving confident and assured over the buttons; to his stomach and the two wrinkles that cross the barest ounce of fat on him as he rests his forearms on his knees; to his bottom lip, worried between his teeth in concentration; to the tiny curl of sweat-damp black hair at the nape of his neck.

When Dean awakens fully and realizes he just spent the better part of the last minute staring at his best friend, and then realizes that he is also hard as a rock again— _fuck_ being nineteen—he clears his throat and mumbles, “Morning.”

“Almost afternoon,” Cas says, not looking away from his game.

Dean shoves a palm against his crotch, thankful to be out of Cas’s line of sight, and reaches over with his other hand to grab his glass of orange juice and down it in one gulp.

“We went to bed at, like, three,” Dean replies as he sets the now-empty glass back down.

Cas shrugs. “I can either be unconscious two hundred feet away or conscious two feet away. Plus my breakfast options are limited to organic shit that tastes like cardboard.”

“Parents still on a health kick?”

“Post-heart-attack ‘life changes’ are generally pretty permanent.” Cas huffs a breath out from below his lip to shake away an errant lock of hair from his vision.

Dean reaches out and smooths it back, touch lingering a moment longer than necessary. Cas leans into it slightly, and Dean realizes that the casual way they tend to touch each other probably stretches at the boundaries of a platonic friendship, but neither of them seem to mind.

 _They are what they are_ , Dean had heard Cas’s dad tell Dean’s dad once when they were nine. Cas and Dean had snuck out in the middle of the night to watch a meteor shower in the enormous meadow behind their backyards. _Just gotta let ‘em do their own thing._

So they did. They’d spent their whole lives together, never getting bored of one another. They fought sometimes, sure, and Cas would leave for maybe two whole hours before one of them would find something stupid on the internet to send to the other, and then Cas would climb right back in Dean’s window, fight forgotten, and ask what John and Mary were making for dinner.

To anyone else, their closeness would probably seem weird.

Thankfully, they didn’t give a shit about anyone else.

Dean climbs to the end of his bed and stands, stretching and yawning. “I’m gonna take a shower.  Be right back.”

**11:15 a.m.**

Dean pads back into his bedroom, towel wrapped around his hips.

Cas is sprawled out on Dean’s twin-sized bed, the newest issue of _Constantine_ open in front of his face from yesterday’s weekly adventure to Bradbury Book  & Comic. The GAME OVER screen floats on the tv, and Dean opens his dresser drawers for a clean pair of boxers.

“What do you want to do today?” Cas asks.

Dean steps into his boxers with the towel still on, then pulls it off when they’re secure on his hips.

“I dunno, what do _you_ wanna do today?”

It’s the same conversation they have every day, and other than comic book Wednesdays, they never really have an answer.

It’s too damn hot for Dean to bother with the rest of his clothes, so he runs a hand through his wet hair and then shoves Cas over on the bed so that he’s pressed against the wall.

Cas doesn’t react, just turns the page while Dean lies down next to him.

It’s also probably too damn hot to be sharing body heat, but there’s nowhere else to sit in Dean’s room except the floor.

“Any lawns to mow?” Dean asks.

“Nope. We got them all on Monday,” Cas replies while reading.

“Sandlot ball?”

“Too hot.”

“Pie at the Hasty Tasty?”

“We spent all our money on comic books.”

“Sneak into the movie theater?”

“We’ve seen everything that’s playing.”

“Hang out at the library?”

Cas drops his comic book in his lap and looks at Dean, disgusted. “Who _are_ you?”

Dean shrugs. His shoulder bumps into Cas’s with the movement.

“I swear, you get a couple college semesters under your belt and it’s almost like you’re literate now.”

“Hey,” Dean replies. “I resent that remark. You know I’ve only read five books voluntarily in my whole life.”

“Four.” Cas ticks them off on his fingers. “ _Slaughterhouse Five, Starship Troopers, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,_ and _The Hobbit_.”

“And…?”

“The Dungeons & Dragons version 3.5 Player’s Handbook doesn’t count, Dean.”

“The hell it doesn’t. It’s a book!”

“It’s a _reference manual_.”

“Which I read in its entirety,” Dean quips proudly.

Cas sighs and turns toward Dean, propping his head on his hand. “So we’re down to movie marathons, tv marathons, video game marathons, or interpretive dance.”

“Interpretive dance sounds pretty fun, as long as there’s air conditioning involved. I’m sure we could find some YouTube tutorials.”

“Knowing you, you’d enjoy it too much and end up changing your major. I can see it now: twenty-twenty-five, Dean Winchester, MFA, PhD, APD, XYZ, performs President Fergus Crowley’s inaugural address.”

“That’s bullshit,” Dean scoffs. “Twenty-twenty-five isn’t an election year.”

Cas punches his shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”

Dean turns toward Cas and grins. “Yeah, but you like suffering me.”

**1:24 p.m.**

It’s been two hours, and they haven’t made it out of bed.

Dean flipped on _Futurama_ on Netflix from episode one and they’ve been shotgunning it the past couple of hours.

Cas finished his comic book and lies on his side next to Dean, head still propped in his hand so he can see over Dean’s head.

Dean’s on his stomach, arms under his pillow and mouth half-open, dozing in and out of consciousness.

**2:17 p.m.**

They wander into the kitchen to feed Riot, and Dean makes them grilled cheeses. While the bottoms are toasting, Cas looks at Dean and asks, “Ready? On three.”

Dean nods, because this is a game they play several times a day, and they both count, “One, two, three…”

Cas says, “Wiccan,” while Dean says, “Gambit.”

“Pfft.” Dean waves his hand. “The Young Avengers? Gambit could kick Wiccan’s ass into next week.”

“Uhh, first of all, no,” Cas replies. “Wiccan would _destroy_ Gambit before he even had a chance to react. Also, now that I think about it, I don’t want them to fight because they’d make a really hot couple instead. I mean, if Wiccan ever breaks up with Hulkling.”

Dean frowns at the grilled cheeses.

He’s not quite sure what to say in response to that, because he doesn’t exactly disagree, but he’s not sure he wants to admit to two dudes being hot, either, so he doesn’t say anything.

But now his curiosity is piqued about Cas. They hadn’t discussed each other’s collegiate sex lives, but now Dean wants to know what Cas got up to away from home, if he met anyone. Dean hadn’t even thought to ask.

Thinking about Cas with someone else, regardless of gender, makes a dark knot of an ugly feeling well up in Dean’s gut.

Once he flips the sandwiches, he forces a smile back on his face, then turns back to Cas and asks, “Round two? On three…”

**3:05 p.m.**

They’re back exactly where they were before, watching tv and lazing about in silence.

It’s still hot as balls in Dean’s room, but it’s bearable as long as they stay minimally clothed and keep the covers kicked to the bottom of the bed. An oscillating fan rests in the corner, periodically ghosting blasts of air at them as it passes in its rotation.

Dean’s phone buzzes under his pillow and he pulls it out.

“Who’s that?” Cas asks from behind him, voice slurred from his palm being pressed into the side of his face.

“Sammy. Just telling me he’s at Kevin’s. Good to know in the middle of the afternoon, ass-wipe. Sure I’ll take care of your damn dog for you.” Dean types out a reply and shoves his phone back under his pillow.

“It’s not like you asked him where he was, either.”

“Don’t side with him. He’s a snot-nosed, angst-filled teenager.”

“So are you.”

Dean scoffs. “Shut up.”

“ _You_ shut up.”

“No, _you_ shut up.”

“Nice comeback.”

“What are you, five?”

In response, Cas reaches out and squeezes the fat right below Dean’s rib, pushing up under it so that Dean yelps in surprise and tries to wiggle away. “Stop! Stop it, Cas!”

The tickle-writhing hell continues for an eternity of Dean batting Cas away and screaming obscenities.

Cas finally stops, and Dean breathes, muscles relaxing.

After about two breaths, he realizes he’s still gripping Cas’s hand, and Cas has managed to sidle closer to Dean, Cas’s chest barely touching Dean’s back.

The silence in the air is tense between them for the first time in their entire lives.

Dean isn’t sure why, or what’s happening, but like everything in life that confuses him, he ignores it and pretends he doesn’t notice. He lets go of Cas’s hand and puts it back where it was under his pillow, but Cas doesn’t move, hand resting hot and gentle against his side between his ribs and his hip.

**3:17 p.m.**

Cas inches closer so that their bodies are flush together, sweaty bare skin sticking to one another.

Dean’s heartbeat elevates. His mind has gone completely blank, having shorted out somewhere between thoughts of, _“But…gay?_ Gay _? Gay._ Gay _,”_ and, _“Please please please more touch please lower? Lower. Definitely lower._ Fuck _.”_

Then there’s, “ _Fuck this is hot. No, really, it’s like sweltering in here. Also that other definition.”_

Given that the battle between the three viewpoints is over and all sides have managed to knock each other out, Dean is left mostly with dial tone filling his brain.

**3:22 p.m.**

Cas inches his hand lower, softly caressing the skin above Dean’s boxers, tracing the top of his hipbone with the pads of his fingers, ghosts of fingernails trailing in their wake.

Dean can’t hide the goosebumps that erupt over his skin, but he manages to bite back a surprised gasp by biting his lip.

**3:23 p.m.**

Cas dips his fingers into the gap between the edge of Dean’ hip and the curve of his stomach, where the elastic of his boxers doesn’t quite touch his skin.

It’s the slightest movement of his hand, up and down, over and over, so simple and small that if Dean didn’t know any better, he’d think Cas was doing it absent-mindedly. With every downstroke, Cas inches lower.

**3:25 p.m.**

Cas has made his way to dragging his fingertips over the wiry hair of Dean’s pelvic region, but when he reaches it, he pulls back out all the way, sliding his hand up Dean’s side.

Dean’s body is tensed, cock somehow half-hard and resting against his thigh, but he’s enjoying this too much to be embarrassed by that.

Cas reaches Dean’s chest and lightly moves over a nipple with his thumb.

On instinct, Dean cants his hips back and he can feel Cas’s erection against the crack of his ass.

The dial tone of Dean’s brain stops and a new voice cuts in, reminding Dean that Cas is his _best friend,_ keyword there being _friend._

Another voice pops up reminding him that _this is pretty fucking gay._

Then a third voice chimes in, louder than the rest, sing-songing, _GET LAID._

And thank God for that third voice, because Cas presses his lips against the back of Dean’s neck. He doesn’t kiss at first, just rests his mouth on sweat-damp skin and breathes, still flicking Dean’s nipple with his thumb.

It’s driving Dean crazy.

**3:28 p.m.**

Cas parts his lips and then brings them together again in an open-mouthed kiss against Dean’s neck. He makes his way to Dean’s ear and kisses behind it, snaking his tongue out and licking it.

Dean can feel his breath hot against him, and finds his own hands balled into fists in the sheets. His breathing is heavy and—

Fuck it.

He presses back so that there’s no denying his intentions, grinding his ass against Cas’s crotch. Cas inhales a sharp breath, moving his hand to grip Dean’s hip and grind right back.

Cas pants against the back of Dean’s neck as he slides his hand into his boxers again, still only rubbing at the skin of his pelvic region, fingers grazing the hair at the base of his cock.

Dean is fully hard now, boxers tented obscenely, and he’s less than ten seconds away from begging Cas to touch him, bend him over and fuck him, anything he wants to do so long as he breaks this insane tension he’s managed to build between them.

**3:30 p.m.**

Cas’s fingers graze Dean’s balls and the base of his cock. His hand is radiating heat in his shorts and it’s turning Dean on so much that he can feel a thick bead of precome trickle down his shaft.

His cock is _literally throbbing_ with the want of Cas’s touch, but Cas isn’t giving it. Instead, he’s teasing Dean with these light strokes, like he’s mapping out Dean’s skin, cataloging the almost-silent gasps and sighs that Dean is trying in earnest to keep at bay.

**3:31 p.m.**

That’s it.

Dean officially fails his mental will save. In fact, he rolls a one.

He shifts onto his back, face still toward the tv, eyes open but not watching it at all as he grips the pillow behind his head so hard that his knuckles turn white.

He bites his bottom lip and opens his legs up wider in invitation, but Cas just massages his balls gently while Dean counts down from ten before he does something drastic that he’ll probably regret later.

_Ten._

Cas rubs tiny circles with one finger against the base of Dean’s dick.

_Nine._

Dean is panting and all the muscles in his body are tensed.

_Eight._

Cas strokes in longer strides against Dean’s shaft.

_Seven._

Dean twitches his hips upward to meet Cas’s touch.

_Six._

Cas meets the next bit of precome that dribbles out with two fingers, the pressure of his touch finally increasing. _  
_

_Five._

Dean screws his eyes shut and bites back the needy whine trying to escape his throat.

_Four._

Cas’s thumb swipes at the head of Dean’s cock.

_Three._

Dean hisses in through his teeth.

_Two._

Cas finally wraps his hand around him, soaking wet with sweat and come, and pumps it once in his fist.

_One._

Dean rolls over and pulls Cas into a scorching-hot kiss. 

**3:36 p.m.**

One minute they’re watching tv together like they do almost every other day of their lives, and the next, Dean his parting Cas’s lips with his tongue while his heart hammers against his chest and his whole body is thrumming from the heat and the want.

Blood rushes to his skin in waves, hot flashes that push him to the edge and make him settle in even closer to Cas. Every inch of their bodies is touching, bare chests grinding together slick with sweat.

Cas still has his hand wrapped around Dean’s cock, stroking it in his fist. Dean’s hands are in Cas’s hair, gripping it as he shoves his tongue into Cas’s mouth, sucking his lower lip between his teeth while he thrusts into Cas’s fist.

Cas tastes like the sour candy they’d been eating and smells like the summer sun, and Dean would be damn-well lying if he didn’t admit that he’d imagined this before, this exact fucking scenario.

But it was so far into the back of his brain, snippets of wet dreams and flashes of blue eyes and goofy smiles in the split-second before he’d come, Cas’s name only ever half-escaping his lips before he’d catch it and convince himself it never happened.

Now he sees it for what it really is, though, because it’s kind of hard to ignore six feet of sexy soulmate nerdboy groaning into his mouth with his hand wrapped around Dean’s cock, stroking him long and swift like a fucking pornstar.

Dean reaches down to push the waistband of Cas’s pajama pants over the swell of his ass. He grips one cheek in hand and shoves their hips together. Cas lets go of Dean’s cock and his pants shift down with their grinding, cocks slick and sliding against each other.

It’s so intense that Dean can’t even take in a full breath, lips parted against Cas’s, no longer kissing, just breathing each other’s air, eyes squeezed shut while they move together in an easy rhythm.

Cas grips Dean’s shoulder and his movements become erratic, breath hitching with every inhale.

Dean opens his eyes to watch him, foreheads now pressed together, cocks pressed between their bodies.

All Dean can see is an ocean of blue when Cas opens his eyes also. His body tenses up and stills, breath held for a beat. Their eyes are locked on one another, nothing hidden anymore, everything out in the open.

Cas comes with Dean’s name on his lips, voice broken and body shuddering as he coats their still-sliding stomachs with come.

Hearing his name on Cas’s lips tips Dean over the edge and he comes right behind, groaning out, _“Fuck_ , Cas,” before slotting their lips together again.

They kiss their way through the immediate aftermath, and Dean’s brain is fuzzy and happy and sleepy. Their bodies are soaked with sweat and getting sticky, but neither of them seem to care.

Dean pulls away, breathless, and rests his head under Cas’s chin.

He’s afraid to say anything, to break this spell between them in case it breaks them too, and he can’t lose Cas. Cas is his favorite thing about being alive. He wants them to spend every waking moment together for the rest of his life and he’s not fucking interested in anyone else. He’s never going to be.

“Dean,” Cas says, and tilts Dean’s chin up so that they’re looking at each other, faces so close that Dean has to cross his eyes to see him properly. “I can physically feel you panicking right now.”

Dean takes a deep breath and nods.

Cas huffs a single laugh that he always does when he’s nervous. It dulls the edge of Dean’s anxiety, reminds him that this is Cas he’s talking to, with the weird obsession with bees and religion and figuring out all the ways to connect the two. He continues, “We never say it but we both know it. I love you. I’m always going to love you. And I don’t care what that love looks like as long as it never dies.”

Dean’s bad at words. He’d probably be better at words if he read more than four books in his life.

All he can think of to say, though, is, “I didn’t know we were gay.”

Cas smiles, one of those small ones that no one else knows are actually the biggest, where his eyes crinkle and he gets these little divots on the sides of his cheeks. “Everyone else did.”

Mostly, Dean is freaking out about how little he’s actually freaking out about this. In the span of an afternoon, his entire world turned upside down, gave him a swirly while shaking him loose of his pocket change.

But it’s not actually a change, Dean realizes.

It’s something that had always been there but he'd never seen, like being color blind for years, then getting knocked in the head and suddenly being able to see red and green, clear as day.

“How long have you known?” Dean asks.

Cas shrugs. “Fall semester, I think. I kept getting hit on, like dozens of people wanting to take me out for dinner or coffee or whatever. It was the most ridiculous thing. Finally, I met this one guy and he seemed to have promise, so I said yes.”

Dean’s tries to stop his heart from sinking, that dark feeling from returning.

“We went to dinner, and dude had zero interest in comic books, video games, bees, or history, so there went ninety percent of my conversational repertoire. But his eyes were green, so I ended up talking about the remaining ten percent of shit I like to talk about, which consists solely of Dean fucking Winchester, weirdo borderline-savant math genius and general lovable dipshit.”

“Hey,” Dean interrupts. “I resemble that remark.”

Cas continues, “Eventually, the guy takes the hint, but I still hadn’t. And he asks if you and I had just broken up, like he was really confused why I was talking about my best friend with such, as he said, ‘reverence.’ So I explained, no, you just went to a different school and I missed you a lot.

“And finally he said, ‘yeah, okay, good luck with your boyfriend, it was cool hanging out, let me know if you ever break up for real.’”

“Wow,” Dean says, and now the drying come is getting really kind of gross, but his body is loose and relaxed. Sleepiness tinges at the edge of his consciousness. “So…you’ve known for almost a year? And you never said anything?”

“What the fuck was I supposed to say? ‘Hey Dean, how are your classes going, by the way I’ve been in love with you my entire life but I didn’t know because I thought that’s how best friends were supposed to feel about each other?’”

“You mean it’s not?” Dean asks. He honestly hadn't considered the idea.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. That annoying physical ache when we’re apart for too many hours at a time? Not normal. Popping each other’s pimples? Not normal. Fantasizing about you whenever I masturbate? Not normal. We are apparently, by the rest of the world’s definition, way, way more than best friends.”

Dean wrinkles his nose. “Even though I didn’t know about that last one until just now, I like all those things. So…fuck being normal.”

Cas smiles even wider at that, and leans in to kiss Dean once more, murmuring against his lips, “I was hoping you’d say that.”

They kiss for a while, lazy and patient and slow, kind of a perfect parallel to what their relationship has always been.

Dean breaks away and says, “I feel like the janitor’s closet of a whore house. Wanna take a shower before my parents get home?”

Cas nods and replies, “Round two?”

**1:24 a.m.**

After a long day of doing absolutely nothing but eating, watching tv, and having sex, Cas finally shoulders his backpack and toes his shoes back on.

Normally, Dean is half-asleep and doesn't even hear Cas climbing out of his window to hop down to the garage roof before leaping over to his own, but this time, Dean stands beside Cas, rubbing the back of his neck and wondering if today was even real.

The summer air has cooled enough that a breeze wafts through the open window, an orchestra of crickets chirping outside while fireflies and stars dot the night sky. Dean’s room is dark except for flashes of the muted television, and it casts an ever-changing glow over Cas’s features.

Cas rolls his eyes at Dean's hesitation and grips the front of Dean’s shirt in hand, dragging them together for a brief kiss.

They pull away, but there must be some kind of magnet in their hearts because they fall right back together again. This time, the kiss is deeper, needier. It involves teeth nipping at lips and soft sighs and all these annoying emotional things that should probably eventually be discussed but not right now, not when Dean can feel Cas’s day-old stubble rasp across his jaw and taste the peach cobbler from a few hours ago on his tongue.

“I gotta go now,” Cas says.

Dean nods, and it takes a natural twenty on his mental will save to take a full step backward, especially when the magnet is trying its damnedest to pull him back in.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Dean replies.

Cas smiles, “See you in the morning,” before climbing out Dean’s window.

**8:14 a.m.**

Dean barely registers the sound of his window sliding open, of a backpack being tossed into his room, of shoes being kicked off and clothes discarded.

He’s vaguely aware of the dip in the mattress, the shifting of blankets and the slotting of a warm body against his, curling around him like they were built to be two halves of one full being.

He can’t control the contented sigh that escapes him when a set of lips kiss the nape of his neck and strong arms wrap around his body.

Then, he falls back asleep to the blissful reminder that some things never have to change.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://www.bettydays.tumblr.com) and/or [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/betty_days).
> 
> [Here's the corresponding tumblr post for this fic](http://bettydays.tumblr.com/post/113705345812/he-came-in-through-the-bedroom-window-by-bettydays) (it's a pretty gifset) for your reblogging pleasure.


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